


Shadow Play

by BijutsuYoukai



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Consensual Sex, Creampie, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fingerfucking, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29507400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BijutsuYoukai/pseuds/BijutsuYoukai
Summary: Reader - an info broker from another city - arranges a meeting with Ikebukuro's infamous human-loving informant to discuss a truce to do some business in the area. Izaya invites them to share a drink with him to lighten the atmosphere. They soon discover the informant is very skilled at playing pretend, as well as getting more than he was first offered.
Relationships: Orihara Izaya/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. Dangerous Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came out of some discussion I’d had talking about Izaya either pretending to drink with someone and them getting inadvertently wasted while was fine or having super high alcohol tolerance despite being so lean/slim. Originally it had a darker tone to it, but evolved into this. Oh well, I still like it.
> 
> Broken into two chapters. Technically you’ll miss some explanation/lead-up if you skip this first chapter, but you can skip it if you want just the sex/teasing.

You took a deep breath, punching in the digits of the phone number you had acquired. Working yourself up to call the number had been more of an effort than getting it. Ordinarily calling some stranger you had never spoken to for business was a simple task, if inconvenient, thanks to having to learn someone new and their unique behaviors. With as infamous as the owner of the phone number was, and as widespread as his business was, getting the number had been easy, only requiring persuading the right person. 

Speaking with the owner would be an entirely different ordeal, though, because of that same notoriety. You would need to tread carefully. A text might have been an easier method, sure. But you were going to have to speak with him face-to-face later, one way or another, so you may as well get it over with and pick up on any extra pieces of useful information you could.

You tapped the ‘call’ button and waited, tapping a finger impatiently on the side of the cellphone pressed to your ear. The line rang once, twice, three times. By the time someone picked up the phone on the fourth ring, accompanied by a vague pop of static, you were frowning. “Yes?” A pleasant sounding voice floated out from the cellphone’s speak and you reminded yourself to relax. This was nothing but more business.

“Izaya Orihara?” You asked briefly.

“You’re speaking to him.” The answer was smooth, confident. You imagined he was used to random people calling him. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?” There was something mischievous in his tone, light and cheery, but warning one to proceed cautiously all the same.

You answered, trying to reflect his carefree manner, providing him with the pseudonym you preferred to use. As far as you knew, with clients, he proudly used his real name, something that to you sounded rather careless. Most you would have labeled foolish for such a choice, but in this case, it was obvious it was confidence. His reputation cast a wide net, and he had made enemies in addition to those people who used his services. If he was truly a fool, some accident would surely have happened to him by now. The fact he was still alive and well was evidence enough he wasn’t no fool.

Izaya paused, then repeated the name as if to better store away the new information. The sudden intrusive thought of what your actual name would sound like in his dulcet rudely interrupted your focus. You held back the urge to physically shake the thought away, settling for crinkling your nose at the absurd idea. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about something like that. You doubted you would have been the first lulled and lured in by his pleasant voice. Mentally scolding yourself, you were reminded you couldn’t afford to fall to someone else’s charms when it was supposed to be  _ your _ job to do just the same.

“And what can I do for you?”

The question drew you from your unwelcome reverie, forcing you to recall the reason you had chanced to call someone like Izaya Orihara while knowing of his reputation for having a rather devious silver tongue. “I’m new in town and we’re in the same line of word,” you stared, successfully sounding level and confident. “I’d like to sit down and have a, ah, heart-to-heart. Make sure I’m not stepping on any toes.” You tried to make it sound as if you were granting him some favor or courtesy, hoping he was unaware of just how easily he could any hopes for the intentions you had of doing business in the area. “You can choose the time and place, it’s only fair.”

There was another pause, and you almost swore you heard a pensive hum from the other side of the call. “Alright. I’ll text you the information this call is over,” he decided, sound still as if he hadn’t a care in the world, casual and a little smug.

“Good. I think it’s done now then.” You drew the phone away, snapping it shut and ending the call. Maybe it had been rude, but you had said all that was needed without a face-to-face meeting. You didn’t think he would take it personally.

Slipping your phone into your pocket while you waited for his text, you grimaced. Only then were you allowed to notice how your heart pounded against your chest. You clenched a fist, cursing these new nerves. It was your job to remain cool and collected under a variety of circumstances, even when dealing with those of widely hailed infamy and menace. That was how the underground worked. Yet just speaking with Izaya Orihara  _ over the phone _ had made you unsure and uneasy. Maybe his reputation of being so skillfully able to manipulate others was what rattled you.

Whatever the reasons were, it frustrated you all the same. Your heart jumped more forcefully when your pocket buzzed loudly. You withdrew the cellphone again, flipping it open. You took in the address and time printed boldly on the bright screen, accompanied by some trite remark about how he ‘couldn’t wait’.

You sighed heavily. You had until tomorrow morning to bolster your nerve and get your thumping heart under control.    
  


  
When you arrived at the apartment door in the high-class building in Shinjuku, you ensured it was precisely the time in the text. Your punctuality alone likely told Orihara more than he needed to know to begin with. Though you hardly wanted to seem over eager by showing up earlier, or disrespectful by wasting his time being late. Rapping firmly, but calmly on the door in the unassuming, empty hallway, you waited.

It was only a minute before the door swung open, a slender man filling the doorway. Izaya Orihara looked even more pleasant than he sounded. He possessed a face and frame somewhere between handsome and pretty, and already you were warning yourself not to let your eyes drift from the over-confident grin on his face. Seeing him, you were fully convinced part of Izaya’s charm was based on his good looks alone.

After all, people were much happier being tricked by beautiful people than the alternative. If he had the sharp tongue and wit to match his good looks, he well-deserved his infamy.

“Ah, right on time. I appreciate someone punctual,” he greeted cheerily. He moved to the side, gesturing inward to the apartment, which even from the doorway you noted was as lavish as expected from the building exterior. “Come right in, make yourself at home.”

You wonder if he treated all of his business like this. His air was more of one welcoming a friend than the cordial sort reserved for work. Was he always so warm and casual? Or was he putting on on a show to convince you to like him more and let down your guard? It was hard to say for sure, given you had spoken to him only once before, and beyond that all you had was research and hearsay. That research  _ had _ taught you plenty, but there was no finer research than studying someone in person up close. But that knowledge was a double-edged sword, and a razor sharp one at that. You were on display for Izaya to learn about and analyze, maybe even more so than he was for you.

You gave your thanks and stepped inside the apartment, following him after he shut the door and swept past the entry to a black leather sectional surrounding a coffee table in the center.At first, you studied the apartment interior as surreptitiously as possible, searching for any information that might make your meeting more beneficial to you. But bookshelves and potted plants told you nothing, save that he enjoyed psychology and anthropology. That was a given for someone in a line of work so closely tied to people, though. The long ‘S’-shaped desk with several computers atop it told you nothing as well, as did the floor-to-ceiling glass windows offering a breathtaking view to the city below.

“Seems business treats you well,” you commented absently.

Izaya sounded amused by your rather obvious insight. “Oh, what makes you say that?: He asked playfully, feigning naivety.

“Call it a hunch,” you answered, continuing the game of pretend.

Face still plastered with the same self-satisfied, close-lipped smile, Izaya gestured to the leather sectional. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

You looked for a second over at his desk, stopping on the chairs on either side of it, obviously the typical setting for a business meeting. But you didn’t protest, moving to one of the cushions and sitting down, folding your hands in your lap primly.

Expecting Izaya to sit across from you, leaving the coffee table between you as a comfortable buffer, you were thrown off when he sat down on the cushion beside you. One hand lay on the armrest, while the other draped across the back of the couch, fingertips hanging down the back. Your brows knit for a moment at just how absurdly casual the man next to behaved, before reminding yourself to wipe your internal train of thought from your face. You didn’t need to give him any handicaps in the mental game you knew the two of you were already playing.

“Comfortable?” He asked.

“Yes?” You cursed the questioning tone that came out in your answer. Why did it matter if you were comfortable? It wasn’t as if this was some pleasure trip.

Izaya eased back into his seat, crossing one leg over the other, clearly unthreatened by your presence and very in his element. You told yourself again to keep your eyes level with his sharp brown gaze. To not dip lower and follow the curve of his arm slung over the couch or the hard, yet delicate lines of his collarbone peeking out of his neckline. ‘ _ No respect for personal space, I see, _ ’ you wondered silently. ‘ _ Or is he doing it on purpose to put me off? _ ’

“Now, what was it you wanted to discuss? Something about ‘not stepping on toes’?” His tone gave you pause. Once more you had to wonder if he all business like this. Polite, but not seeming very serious or interested by the idea.

“I, uh, yes,” you confirmed dumbly, wincing on the inside at the stumble in speech. He seemed to wait for you to continue, so you carried on. “I heard Ikebukuro was a very exciting place to be,” you explained, trying to shake off the air of awkwardness. “Things were getting boring at home, so I thought I’d take a trip and try my luck elsewhere a bit more… interesting. But then your name started coming an awful lot.” You weren’t being completely straight with him, of course. Business had come up in the area that had drawn your attention to Ikebukuro, but the last thing you needed was Izaya knowing you already had something riding on the meetings outcome to give him more leverage.

“Did it? And what did you learn? All good things, I hope?” Izaya sounded far too please, and you were positive he knew what his reputation looked like and how many thought of him as rather dangerous.

“That doesn’t matter, does it?” You deflected. You would not give him any extra information if you could help it. “What matters is I know  _ you’re _ the man to see when it comes to intel in this area. S-so it seemed only polite to have a little chat before I made any plans,” you finished with a shrug, trying again to give the sense this was all a formality or courtesy to him. You could only hope he missed the way some of your words wavered.

Izaya considered you with a narrow, hawk-like gaze as you spoke, perfectly content to listen as you went on. Here and there you thought you saw his lips quirk up a hair. “How thoughtful of you.” There was a vague condescension in his voice that you resented immediately. “And what were you planning on doing if I didn’t like the idea of you intruding on my stage?” He asked lightly, the condescension vanishing.

“Well, to s-start, I--,” you began, but Izaya stopped you.

What’s the problem? You seem nervous,” he noted, and this time you saw his grin grow for sure.

“N-no, just a bit tired, that’s all,” you quickly lied. “You of all people should understand how exhausting this line of work can be,” you added.

“Exhausting? Oh, no,” he denied happily, “I find it invigorating,” he countered. “Why don’t you excuse me for a minute, I’ve got just the thing to help,” Izaya offered, getting to his feet without waiting for a response.

“Oh, no, no need to go to trouble for me. Let’s just get back to our talk, alright?” You tried to convince him. The quicker everything was settled, the better. You hadn’t need for more of his ‘hospitality’.

But he seemed dead set on the idea. “Can’t talk business if you’re too tired to pay attention, can we? Wouldn’t want to misunderstand anything,” Izaya argued.

”Alright,” you conceded.

He left for a moment, leaving you to sit in awkward silence on the sectional, waiting for him to return. In the meantime, you intended to collect yourself, unhappy to find your heart was thundering in your chest again like a stampeding beast, and your throat was dry. You hated that one man had somehow uprooted your typically collected facade - without hardly trying even. It frustrated you more not being able to put a finger on  _ why _ either. Was it his looks? No, you had done business with attractive people before. The soothing sound of his voice? His reputation? None of those alone should have caused so much distress. Was it simply the perfect storm once it was all put together?

When Izaya returned, he carried two opaque mugs of something steaming. He passed one to you before making himself comfortable on the cushion beside you once more. You offered him a quick ‘thank you’ before taking the mug, but couldn’t help eyeing the warm liquid inside suspiciously. It seemed to be the same as whatever you had glimpsed in Izaya’s, but was it safe?

“Don’t worry, it’s not poison or anything,” Izaya reassured you, though there was something about his smile now that had the opposite effect. “Something like that would any fun, would it?” He added, his smile wider, showing a hint of teeth.

You lifted your eyes to meet his, still skeptical as he raised his own mug to his lips and took a sip. “Besides, if I wanted to get rid of you, don’t you think I’d have arranged for us to meet somewhere that  _ isn’t _ where I live? Clean up is such a pain, you know.” You suppressed a shudder at how carefree he sounded talking about getting rid of someone, as if the only regret in the process was how tedious the aftermath was.

He was right, though. If he wanted you dead, you imagined you would have already been six feet under before the morning of the meeting. Giving the drink in your hand a final glance and, wrinkling your nose at the bitter scent wafting off it, you raised it to your lips. This time full-bodied and it burned vaguely, more than from the temperature. The smell of green tea blended with the undertone of some alcohol - whiskey or bourbon, you thought - and the taste was much the same. It was stronger than it smelled though. You tried to play off your expression of distaste for the drink. “Now can we get back to the point, please?” You insisted prettily.

Izaya nodding, raising his drink again and tipping the mug toward his lips. You mirrored the motion, but took a smaller drink than the first. “Gladly. But you never said what it was you were after,” he reminded you.

“Ah, r-right.” Your short explanation before hadn’t been enough. “I want to set up some business in Ikebukuro for a little while,” you declared.

“And?” He raised his mug again, and again you followed suit.

“I want your word you won’t butt into any of it, if I don’t butt into yours,” Your words came out more clipped than intended.

“I’m not seeing how that arrangement benefits me at all,” he mused. “This is my playground, after all, so tell me what I get in return. Promising not to meddle in my affairs isn’t enough when you’re already intruding,” Izaya insisted. “Not that I’d let you butt in anyway,” he added, and the smile he gave you then was no longer warm and welcoming, but cold and empty.

You made a show of considering what you could offer him. “A favor, anything you liked,” you announced finally. “I may not be infamous  _ here _ , but I’ve got my own connections elsewhere I’m sure you’d find useful,” you boasted, trying to sound smug.

“Oh? Anything? Are you sure you want to give some  _ infamous _ like me such an open-ended promise?” You didn’t miss the emphasis in the sentence.

You raised an eyebrow. “I trust whatever favor is most  _ beneficial _ to you, I can manage,” you claimed. You knew the dangers of such a vague promise, sure, but you knew the game as well. Secrets and connections were almost always more valuable than physical debts or favors. “So, I get to do what I want, and I owe you one favor. Deal?” You pressed, feeling more confident, even if your heart was still thudding too wildly for your liking. 

Perhaps the drink was more helpful than you thought. You took another sip at the thought, and this time Izaya raised his own in reflection. You told yourself the warmth blossoming in your chest was the fault of the drink as well.

“Deal.” You didn’t like the sense of no going back that came with the way Izaya said that single word. But there was no regretting your choices now. You had the distinct feeling Izaya wasn’t the type who appreciated someone backing out of an agreement. “You can do whatever it is you came to Ikebukuro to do.” Izaya was silent for a moment, the atmosphere feeling strangely heavy. “But do be careful,” he warned, tone almost musical, “I can’t have you showing me up when it comes to my little humans.”

_ His _ humans? What did he mean by that? “Ah, sure, I’ll keep that in mind,” you agreed hesitantly, confused. You took another drink from the mug to distract you.

“Anything else you need to discuss while you’ve got my attention?” Izaya asked brightly.

“N-no, I… I’ve got everything under control,” you said, though you found the words came out slower, heavier, as if your tongue was half made of lead.

“Take care then. Maybe get some rest; you don’t sound so good, my dear,” Izaya observed, standing once more and looking down at you.

You shook your head stubbornly, placing your nearly empty mug on the coffee table beside you and moving to stand as well. To your dismay, when you stood, your legs wobbled, dizziness seizing you, and you lurched forward. Instead of crashing headfirst into the table or the floor, a solid warmth and the soft touch of fabric met you. A warm pressure rested over your shoulders on either side. Your lips stretching in an uneasy expression, you redirected your eyes from the floor with a shaky breath.

They landed on Izaya’s mug, sitting on the table alongside yours. It was still full to just below the rim, untouched, and a queasy feeling flickered through your gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the spicy stuff! You've been warned. Also, for anyone curious what the relevancy of 'drinking at the same time' thing was in here, it's a little nod to a technique used to build rapport/friendliness with someone by mirroring their actions (and that people also do subconsciously towards a person they like/trust). It seemed a fun little manipulative thing to add in.
> 
> If you liked any part in particular, please don’t hesitate to let me know! If you’d like to follow me elsewhere, I post my work to Tumblr (and ramblings on process/concepts/etc.). You can also use Asks (Anon is open) to make requests over there if you would like. Just remember to read the pinned post!  
> [https://bjy-on-ao3.tumblr.com](https://bjy-on-ao3.tumblr.com/)


	2. Puppet Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoy Izaya being a smug, teasing bastard. I know I do. Without further ado, here we go!

“You… you didn’t even touch yours.” Your voice was colored with surprise and a hint of anger. The bastard had tricked you. “Wh-What are you playing at, Orihara?” You demanded, trying to sound indignant, but tripping over your words.

“Oh, did I forget to mention? I don’t drink,” he answered, as if it were obvious.

“S-so you were just going to… let me think we were on equal footing? That I…” you fell silent as you shifted your eyes again, intending to give him the full force of a glare, but failed.

His sharp, rust-colored eyes caught yours again, closer now, and this time held them prisoner. All your words were gone, replaced by dizziness and heat as you took in the sly face that should have made you furious. But it didn’t. As if swept away by whatever intoxication had taken sway over you, your indignation evaporated. Leaning against Izaya, with his hands resting so naturally on your shoulder and his face so close, the heat in your cheeks spread out and down.

“Are you so mad at me now you’re speechless?” Izaya mocked, in no obvious rush to push you away to stand on your own. “Your face is so red. Is it just the alcohol? Or perhaps something else?”

“I…” you tried to capture the words and failed, feeling like a deer in headlights as you stared at him.

“Are you sure there wasn’t anything you wanted to ask for?”

Izaya tilted his head closer as he spoke, so close his breath fanned over your face. So close his face filled your vision, and it was hard to keep your eyes from flickering to his lips a hair’s breadth away. One hand slid up your shoulder, fingertips dragging lightly along your neck and over your racing pulse. You swallowed nervously, still helpless trapped in whatever daze had beset you.

In an instant, the world tumbled around you again, but unlike before when you fell forward, you tipped backwards. With a soft ‘oof’, you lay flat on your back, supported by the plush cushions of the sectional with Izaya poised over you. Both of his hands returned to your shoulders, pinning you to the cushions, his face as close as ever.

You know, for someone in this line of work, you’re very trusting. It’s adorable, but stupid,” he purred, the satisfaction on his face alike to a cat having discovered a new toy to torment. “Meeting me all alone. And then being so irresponsible with your drinking, even trying to use it as an excuse to manipulate me.” He had caught on then to how you drank each time had had - or as least when you thought he had. “Look at you now. I could do whatever I wanted with you.” And he sounded so very smug about it, too. “So tell me, are you always this sloppy?”

Izaya, waiting expectantly for an answer, pressed so closely to you, finally roused you from your stupor. “I-No!!” You protested, louder than intended. “I… I just… You…,” still the words were hard to grasp, slipping away like dust with each twist of your tongue.

Suddenly, words didn’t matter as much, and your inebriated brain decided on a course of action you would have considered unthinkable not even a half hour earlier. One of your hands shot up, as if by a will of its own, and tangled in Izaya’s sleek black hair, pulling him down until his lips met yours roughly. The kiss was sloppy, passionate, and lasted hardly long enough for Izaya to respond, and when you let go of his hair and he tipped his head back, he didn’t seem upset. In fact, a tone of quivering excitement suffused his words when he spoke again, barely restrained beneath the surface.

“ _ That _ wasn’t the outburst I was expecting. How interesting,” he breathed, eyes even more keenly focused on you. “Is that what’s been making so nervous, my dear? Was this the favor you were hoping I’d ask for when you offered me anything?” He continued, sounding delighted. “But I don’t think I  _ need _ to trade my favor for it; you want it more than I do. What do you think? Want to owe me even more?” He asked, and between the blend of his enthusiastic, hushed tone and the memory of his soft lips pressed to yours, your body felt even hotter.

You opened your mouth to speak, but again only a single short word escaped, another struggle. Izaya released your shoulders, half sitting up. “Or is our business here done? Should I see you out?” He said, his tone teasing.

“No, wait, Orihara, I-I--” Only through stubbornness and a strange sense of panic did you your voice again.

“What is it you need from me now?” You knew you should have detested how disgustingly smug he sounded.

“Yes.”

“Yes… what? You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” Clearly he would not fill in the blanks for you.

“I want a-another favor from you.”

“And? What is it?” He prompted again.

You took a deep breath to clear both the fog and alcohol muddling your head and steel yourself. “Fuck me, please,” you implored at last.

“Hm, isn’t that such a sinful thing to say,” Izaya hummed, though he sounded pleased. “Since you asked so nicely, I’ll give you that favor, too.” Izaya lay back down, his weight pressing more firmly along your body. “Just remember, you owe me twice now.”

Without another word, Izaya bent forward, unforced by your hand this time. You tangled your hand in his hair again anyway when his lips sealed over yours. With Izaya leading, the kiss was far smoother, slower, but intense. His lips worked yours expertly, stopping to worry your bottom lip with his teeth or suck on it and leaving you breathless. He slipped an arm between your shoulder blades, fisting his hand in your hair so he could lift your shoulders and tilt your head back.

He trailed his tongue coyly over your lips, asking for an invitation beyond them, at the same time pressing his hips into yours and grinding against your core. You gasped and groaned, opening your mouth to him and involuntarily bucking up to meet the hard outline in his pants. His tongue slipped in smoothly, alternating between exploring your mouth and winding itself with yours obscenely. He continued to grind his crotch into yours through your clothes, eliciting small, muffled whimpers from you.

Your fingers flexed tiger in his hair, your other hand grasping desperately at one of the couch cushions to ground you. Your hips met his eagerly, waves of pleasant heat rolling over you, a wetness pooling between your legs, accompanied by a throbbing sensation to match your wilding racing heartbeat. 

You whined when Izaya pulled back, and you could breathe again. He freed himself from your grip on his hair, the kiss broken, and his hips stilled. Purposefully holding your gaze, he slipped a hand over chest, only gingerly brushing the clothed skin, down over your torso and further until he came to the waistband of your pants. He toyed with the fabric for a moment. Then his hand sank beneath it and your underwear both. His fingers slid easily between your pussy lips, already soaked.

“So wet,” Izaya said softly, fingers gently searching until they found your entrance, just as soaked and wanting. One finger slipped inside with little resistance, then a second, and you moaned. “Have you been like this since you got here?” He questioned impishly, pumping his fingers in and out of your wet heat. “Just waiting, hoping I’d take advantage of you. Aren’t you a naughty little thing.” His fingers curled upward, rubbing a spot that made your cunt clench and throb and your gut heat and tense. “Is this how you handle all your business, on your back? Or was business just an excuse?”

You had thought before speaking through the liquor clogging your senses was difficult, but it was nothing compared to trying to answer Izaya with his fingers working you so deftly. “N-no, it wasn’t. Aah, fuck, Orihara.” A few shaky words were all you could spare before the swelling pleasure in your core took back over, reducing you again to nonsense and curses and names.

“Izaya,” he corrected. “We’re close enough for you to call me that, aren’t we?” He disguised it as a question, but from his tone, you realized it wasn’t.

You obeyed the unspoken demand, taking to the correction readily, his name mixing among your whimpers and moans. “Izaya, Izaya, fuck.”

“You sound like you’re enjoying yourself. Do you want to keep going?” Izaya asked, and you missed the note to his speech, the smugness making it hard to pick up on.

“Y-yes, yes, please, don’t stop, Izaya,” you groaned, only the alcohol in your blood inhibiting you, rather than cautious or nerves. You arched your back, toes curling, pressing Izaya’s fingers deeper inside you.

But Izaya withdrew his fingers as soon as you finished answered him and, for a crazy moment, you thought maybe he’d misheard or you had said something to upset him. The mounting pleasure you had been chasing died, the tension dulling, despite your pussy still throbbing needily. “Fuck. What the fuck. What are you p-playing at now?” You slurred, glaring at him for the loss.

“Oh, but I thought you said you wanted me to fuck you? You never said you wanted to cum,” Izaya answered, his ignorance clearly an act. You groaned in frustration.

“That’s… that's not--mmph.” Izaya cut off your protests, shoving his fingers into your mouth and prompting you to obediently clean your juices from them. The tang of your own essence and the coppery, cold taste of his ring met your tongue, the blend surprisingly erotic.

“Oh, did you want even  _ more _ from me? Fucking you won’t be enough? Aren’t you greedy,” Izaya mocked, slowly pulling his damp fingers from your mouth, brushing his thumb over your lip.

“F-fine. Please, Izaya… make me cum,” you confessed begrudgingly. Even feeling hazy and hot, begging him felt like a thorough defeat.

He grinned down at you, smile back to the one that was outwardly inviting and genuine; you had the feeling that smile was the most fake of them all. His hands moved quickly, grabbing your shirt by the hem and pulling it up. You stretched your arms over your head, helping tug off the garment and tossing it over the back of the sectional. Your bra followed, Izaya’s hand sneaking behind you to deftly unhook the clasp before peeling the straps down. It, too, was discarded on the floor. He took a second to admire your newly bare chest and torso, absently cupping a breast. Ghosting the pads of his fingers over a nipple, he watched as it stiffened and rose to his touch eagerly.

Then his fingers were playing with your waistband again, dragging your pants over your hips and down your legs with your underwear in tow. He moved aside long enough to let you kick off the remaining articles of clothing, and they joined the others. Through the cloudiness of alcohol and heat, the look on Izaya’s face was fascinating. He remained ever confident, the ever-amused smile splitting his face, eyes alight with excitement and intent, both of the mischievous and licentious kinds. Yet the sharp clarity never left either, and he still seemed so much more in control of himself than you, although you had felt the evidence of his arousal.

Izaya didn’t bother to strip himself bare, as he had done to you, moving only to unbuckle and unzip his pants, pulling them and his underwear away until his cock bobbed free. Immediately your eyes were drawn to it, swollen and leaking pre-cum, and you swallowed thickly again, less nervous this time, but hungry. But you had little time to look before Izaya stretched himself over you again. But he was hardly done playing with you.

Your breath hitched in anticipation when his cock probed at your cunt, gliding slickly through your dripping pussy lips. He chuckled softly at your reaction, but made no move to enter you. You rolled your hips toward him, but it made no difference, only rubbing his cock along your lips again.

You whined petulantly when he rutted languidly against you, the head of his dick bumping your clit, each little jolt enough to feel nice, but nowhere near enough to match what you craved, the heat and tension rising and ebbing time and amounting to nothing but frustration. By the expression he wore so, he knew exactly what kind of torment he was treating you to. Never had you met a man so simultaneously infuriating and alluring.

Eventually, you could take no more, and protested, swallowing the small moans and whines spilling from your mouth. “Fuck. What taking you so long? F-fuck me already,” you growled, your voice strained.

But Izaya’s teasing didn’t cease as he answered, unbothered by your tone. “You’re sure demanding for someone asking for a favor,” he murmured against your cheek, and his breath washing over your neck made you shiver. “Besides, it’s just too much fun watching your face.” His voice took on that almost sing-song lilt again, as if nothing were more enjoyable to than teasing you.

You drew in another deep, shaking breath, trying to clear your thoughts and attempt a different approach. Some of your intoxication was wearing off, yet the lust and taunting rub of Izaya’s cock still made it hard to think. You held back the desperation and frustration in your voice the best you could, instead wanting to sound seductive.

‘Wouldn’t it be more fun to be inside me?” You asked, trying to tempt him into giving you what you wanted. “To see what that looks like?”

But Izaya saw right through your pitiful act. “But why rush when I can see both?” His next thrust against your heat was torturously slow, as if punishing your attempt to persuade him, and you cried out. “You’ll just have to be patient,” he said, as if it couldn’t be helped. He cupped your cheek in one hand, stroking it almost tenderly. But nothing in his eyes or smile spoke of tenderness.

Your noises of subdued pleasure and frustration only grew as he continued to tease you, adding to the sensations by palming your breasts, rolling and pinching your nipples sharply between his fingers until they ached.

“Damn it, please, please.” It wounded your pride to beg again, but tears of frustration were leaking from your eyes now, and your dignity was mattering to you less and less. All your bedraggled brain could bother with was the fleeting promise of pleasure just beyond your reach each time the head of his cock brushed your swollen clit.

“Oh?” All of his interest and excitement seemed centered in that single syllable. One hand abandoned your chest, wiping away one of the tears welling up in the corner of your eyes, as if marvelling at it. “It’s just driving you mad, isn’t it?” Izaya drawled, unperturbed by your frustration.

With a sharp cant of his hips, Izaya took you by surprise again, his cock sinking into your cunt completely in one smooth, quick stroke. The moan that erupted from your throat was long and strangled. The maddening grinding against your clit ceased, replaced with a fullness that made your throbbing core swoon, your walls fluttering around his dick. When Izaya spoke again, his lips brushed your neck, and his tongue darted out to outline the delicate curve of it.

“Mm, there. Didn’t the wait make it better?” He insisted, the hum of his voice tickling your sensitive skin. He pulled back, observing your face once more. “Speechless again?” He asked casually. Your only response was to whimper when he shifted his hips, letting you adjust to him. “That’s fine.”

For a time, Izaya fell quiet, save for a few low, quiet sounds. Once he was satisfied with how your body clenched around him and the pitch of your own noises, he drew his hips back smoothly, only to snap them forward and press into your heat again. His thrusts carried on, pace precise and steady, interrupted on when he readjusted the angle of his hips. A little here, a touch there, and your shot wider as his cock stroked the sensitive spot just inside that set your blood aflame entirely.

All at once, your skin burned and sweated, a greater heat pooling in your gut and between your legs, adding even more wetness and accompanied by a tightness in your muscles that started small, but grew exponentially. Your chest heaved deeply, breath coming in long inhales and panting exhales, increasingly lewd and embarrassing noises using up what little air you took in. Izaya looked even more satisfied with himself, eyes positively glowing with satisfaction and a lust that shone through even his collected facade and piercing glance. The sight of him leering down at you, so self-assured and full of masked desire, made your cunt squeeze him even tighter, and you cried out louder.

His name rolled off your tongue as if you were compelled to scream it, tasting so so sweet amidst the pleasure taking you over. Your sense of pride and caution were both long forgotten, reserved for a time when you were being unraveled so thoroughly. Later, you would scold yourself for giving in, for playing so easily in Izaya’s hand, for so stupidly ignoring so many warnings. But for now, you couldn’t care less about all of that or what you had come here to do in the first place.

All that mattered was his touch, exploring your neck and chest and torso enthusiastically. His teeth, grazing your neck and nipping at your ears and your jaw, while in between he whispered filthy praises and teased you for how fervently you called his name. His cock, with each hard buck of his hips touching all the right places inside to turn you in a steaming puddle of lust and desperation. In that moment, you clung to him, and he was your world.

The heat and pressure rose, again and again, until you were approaching a peak not unlike the one before when Izaya had so skillfully serviced you with his fingers, though the feeling was so much more intense. A fear shot through you suddenly, a reminder of how close to the verge of ecstasy you had been before only for Izaya to pull away and rob you of it all.

“D-don’t… stop, please,” you pleaded, your voice coming out breathless, cracked and airy.

His dulcet words met your ears again, and again you couldn’t help but shiver, the shivers transforming into a trembling that wracked your body entirely. “Oh, don’t worry. I take my word very seriously.” While his voice was smooth and soothing, it sounded so matter-of-fact, only the barest hint of his excitement and arousal peeking from beneath the businesslike tone.

But Izaya was true to his words, and one hand slid down, finding the place you were joined and your clit just above. He rubbed eagerly at the swollen bundle, noting how your body instantly tensed further at the added stimulation. You felt like some mindless, lust-driven beast when touch you so expertly, every thought and care flung aside. All you could do was scream and moan and call for him, arching your back and rolling your hips up into his, and into his touch.

Yet still, a few words more slipped from your lips. “Aah, Izaya. I-I’m right there… Almost… I’m-I’m--,” you stopped short, unable to finish your sentence as the rise of your mounting orgasm reached its pinnacle and burst, like a dam shattering.

Pleasure washed over you, hot and electric and flowing, the tension in your gut and thighs snapping, though the muscles in your pussy clenched wildly. Your walls milked Izaya’s cock desperately, frantically, dragging him as deep as possible. He made the first sound you had heard that wasn’t controlled and guarded, instead it was deep, feral, and blissful.

The rock of his hips pressed into you more insistently, and finally his veneer of control fell away. Sweat glistened on his forehead as it don your skin, and his breathing quickened and deepened. He leaned forward, still thrusting into you mercilessly, though his hand abandoned your clit to pin your hands above your head, pushing them into the cushions.

“Now that’s three favors you owe me,” he reminded in a voice that was husky and carnal, a strain rising in it. “So much debt isn’t a good idea, you know.” Even on the precipice of his orgasm, Izaya had to remind you of the choices you had made, of the new sway he held over you. Had to remind you that he was the one in control.

Izaya finished inside you with a long, sensual groan, burying his face in the hollow of your throat. His hips slowed as he pumped you full of his cum, degrading to slow, hard thrusts that let you feel the way his cock twitched and throbbed and encouraged your cunt to hug him more greedily. When he moaned a name into your skin, it pierced your orgasmic haze, and your heart skipped a beat. It hadn’t been the pseudonym you provided him with before, no, but your actual name. You quickly reminded yourself that a name was only the tip of the iceberg of what someone like him could discover and forced yourself to relax.

You tore the thought away, instead focusing back on the way your walls still spasmed weakly around Izaya’s softening cock each time he shifted, and the way his weight pressed over you. You let your eyes slip shut for a second, listening to your labored breathing and Izaya’s fade to a more normal rhythm.

Izaya fully caught his breath before you, sitting up and pulling out of you, He tucked his cock into his pants and redid them, smoothing away some hair stuck to his face with sweat, and straightening the rest of his clothes. After a few minutes, save for the way his hair clung to his skin and the light, rosy flush on his face, one would have been hard pressed to tell that Izaya had been the one fucking you. He hardly seemed worse for the wear.

You finally sat up, too, not bothering yet to gather your clothes discarded around you. You leaned back into the coolness of the sectional’s back cushions and ran a hand through your dishevelled hair. Izaya didn’t seem concerned about the cum dripping down your thighs that would inevitably stain the couch. “Take all the time you need to sober up.” His cheery, relaxed tone was back, and he got to his feet. “But you’ll have to forgive me, I’ve got other business to tend to in the meantime.”

He moved away from the sofa, taking a seat in the chair on the far side of the long desk, in front of the pair of computers. He began going about his business as if you weren’t even there. You just nodded wordlessly, not thinking about how he might not see the gesture. You reflected on the rush beforehand, still feeling buzzed, but far more coherent than before.

Izaya had so effortlessly roped you into owing him three times as many favors as you had intended to offer him when you first arrived. You cursed yourself for indebting yourself to him so extensively, all for a carnal craving you hadn’t been able to control. You wondered how long those favors would take or what they would be. Would he use them as opportunities to coax more favors from you? You didn’t know, but at the same time, you weren’t sure if it was the worst thing in the world. At least not if it was in exchange for something like what had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that ended up WAY longer than was my initial intent, but I hope it was worth it!
> 
> If you liked any part in particular, please don’t hesitate to let me know! If you’d like to follow me elsewhere, I post my work to Tumblr (and ramblings on process/concepts/etc.). You can also use Asks (Anon is open) to make requests over there if you would like. Just remember to read the pinned post!
> 
> [https://bjy-on-ao3.tumblr.com](https://bjy-on-ao3.tumblr.com/)


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